


now you've got me writing love songs

by aceofdiamonds



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofdiamonds/pseuds/aceofdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ve seen the films, Jon, this never works out.”</p>
<p>“I think it always work out in the films, Sam,” Jon counters.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he concedes, “after a lot of miscommunication and everyone’s in tears.”</p>
<p>sansa and jon pretend to date even though already they're in love and it's less of a mess than you would think because jon refuses to have his life dictated by romantic comedies</p>
            </blockquote>





	now you've got me writing love songs

**Author's Note:**

> fake dating!! title is from left handed kisses by andrew bird and fiona apple

  
  


With the timing of someone who knows his timetable by heart, when Jon pulls his ringing phone out of this pocket as he walks out of his last lecture of the week, he’s not surprised to see Sansa’s name and the picture of her hiding her face under the rim of a baseball cap on his screen. 

“Jon,” she says before he has the chance to say hello. “How was European Politics?” continuing before he has the chance to answer. “Remember last week when I was upset?”

“When they had no pepperoni left at Dominos?” Jon checks to make sure they’re on the same page. 

“Yes, that time — and, honestly, what pizza place runs out of pepperoni? One of the most popular pizza toppings in Glasgow, let alone the world? But that’s not why I’m calling.” She pauses, takes a deep breath, giving Jon’s mind the chance to whirl through a number of possibilities as to why she’s calling. “Last week when I was upset you said you would do anything you could to cheer me up, didn’t you, Jon?” 

“That sounds like something I would say,” Jon agrees, pausing outside the Subway station to continue the conversation. “What do you need?”

“See? This is why I love you, Jon,” Sansa says. “Always the hero.” 

“What are you asking of me, Sansa?” Jon asks, all mock-impatience and the pretence of dragging his feet. 

“Pretend to be my boyfriend?” It’s said quietly, a little uncertain, even after all her bravado in the lead-up. 

“Okay,” he says easily, immediately, half to quell Sansa’s nerves and half because that question sounds almost like something he’s imagined her asking for a while now.

“I know you hate this trope when it’s done in films and I know it might seem childish  —“ Jon listens as Sansa stops again, runs back over the conversation. “You’re agreeing? Just like that?”

“Hey, I promised I would do anything, didn’t I?” 

“You, Jon Snow,” Sansa declares through the phone, “are the best person I’ve ever met and if I ever see Ygritte again I’ll tell her so. I’ll even get Bran to do a slideshow, possibly containing evidence of pictures from our date, hmm, I’ll have a think about that.” 

“Please stay on topic, San,” Jon pleads, drawing her away from Ygritte, who, yes, he misses as his girlfriend, but also no, because he’s been in this messy tangle of feelings over someone else for a while now. “Why do you need my services?” 

“Please don’t make it sleazy, Jon,” Sansa whines. “It’s for Robb’s wedding.” 

“The wedding that’s happening next week?” Jon checks. “The one where I’m the best man and you’re the bridesmaid?”

“I know, Jon —“

“Were we not planning on going together anyway?” Because messy secret feelings aside, he and Sansa have become a lot closer recently, and really, that’s probably why he’s ended up in such a tangle. “I’m sure we’re sitting together. Robb told me the other day.”

“I didn’t know the seating plans were out,” Sansa replies, and now Jon can tell she’s frowning. “Who else is at our table? Hey — Jon, stop distracting me! I know we’re going together anyway but then I told my mum we’re dating and so now we have an extra layer.”

“An extra layer.” It’s starting to rain; Jon ducks under the shelter. He has to get the Subway eventually but he’ll keep talking for a few more minutes. And doesn’t that sum up their relationship perfectly. 

“I’m not asking too much of you, am I, Jon?” And now. Now Sansa’s doing that voice Jon has grown up with. The one where she pulls them into doing what she’s asking by making it sound like she’s doing them a favour. She doesn’t use it much but it’s effective. Although with Jon half of that’s probably, again, these stupid feelings. 

Is it not in one of those handbooks somewhere on how to be a human? Do not develop feelings for a: your best friend’s sister and also b: someone you’re very good friends with. Jon’s always been an overachiever. 

“So basically we’re acting the exact same?” he asks, shaking his head at someone trying to get him to sign up to a charity.

Sansa sighs. “No, Jon. You’re going to need to put your arm around me, hold my hand; I’m going to need to rest my head on your shoulder. Oh,” she says, taking in a sharp intake of breath. “We’ll dance.”

“We’re going to dance together anyway,” Jon laughs. “Sansa, you’re over complicating things. Relax.” 

Sansa joins his laughter. “We’ll act like normal, okay? Just touch me a little more. Everyone will believe us -- don’t worry about it.” 

And she’s so confident all Jon can do is laugh and say, okay, let’s do this, let me be in love with you, and it’s so rom-commy and unreal that it’s almost funny. 

With that out the way Sansa segues into the episode of Lost they stayed up watching last night and how fucked up everything is getting and Jon’s throat unties and everything goes back to normal. See? He’s in love.

  
  


.

  
  


“Sansa told me about your plan,” Arya says, stepping back to allow Jon into her room. He came here to see Sansa, actually, but Arya had grabbed him on the way past, because Sansa was wrong, this is complicating everything already. He can't lie to Arya. 

“What plan?” He tries anyway. 

“That you're in love.”

“We are in love.”

Arya rolls her eyes, shoves at Jon’s shoulder. “This isn't going to work.” 

Which Jon doesn't really understand because yes, sure, he does like Sansa, but also they were planning on going together anyway. This isn't anything different. When he tells Arya this she rolls her eyes again. 

“You're both idiots.” 

“Hey, Arya, be supportive, will you?” Jon cajoles, smiling when she continues to look at him like he has five heads and four legs and as much sense as Nymeria.

“I’m always supportive of idiocy,” Arya says, baring her teeth in a semblance of a smile. “I enjoy watching Sansa’s schemes.”

“This isn’t a scheme.”

Arya sighs a long put-upon sigh that would have Catelyn rolling her eyes to the heavens and declare that her daughters really are a lot more alike than either of them think and then she shoves Jon out the door and into the hall. “We’ll see,” she says, all fake wisdom. “You promised we can binge watch That 70s Show after you’ve finished Lost with Sansa -- are you still going to do now that you’re in loooooove?” 

Jon takes a swipe as Arya dangles out of her room, her tongue out and her hands gesturing widely. “Of course. Now fuck off, I need to find your sister.” 

Arya flips him off, grinning over her shoulder at Jon’s laugh. 

When they were younger and Jon started hanging around the Starks’ house more than he was ever at his own, he was always closest to Robb, both in age and in interests. Sansa tended to stay out the way and Arya was too young. But there was a period when Jon was about eleven and Arya seven where they were inseparable, all secret languages and games where no one but them knew the rules. They’re still close now, of course, but those years Arya was his favourite person in the world.

He shuts Sansa’s door with a click and flops down on the bed. Sansa looks up from the book she’s reading to smile lazily at him, one finger keeping her place as she reaches out to touch his shoulder in her way of saying hello. 

“Arya’s on to us,” he says, kicking off his shoes and pulling Sansa’s laptop onto his knees. 

“I told her,” Sansa admits. “I knew she would blab otherwise.” 

“She’s not convinced,” he replies, clicking onto Netflix and then the episode they left Lost at last night. 

“We’re just going to have to amp up the love,” she says, eyes soft and oh so very real Jon almost forgets again. Okay, so Arya and Robb were always his favourites while Sansa only ever danced around his periphery growing up. But call him a romantic and don’t invalidate Ygritte in any way, but he’s not surprised at all that this is the room he’s ending up in now, the room where he’s now the most comfortable and happiest. He and Sansa weren’t the closest growing up but maybe that’s because they had to wait until now for their paths to really meet and for their relationship to grow.

“Let me finish this chapter quickly -- I’ve only got a couple of pages left, and then I’m all yours.” 

Jon tilts his head back till he hits the wall and he waits, listening to the quiet sound of the pages turning and occasional reaction from Sansa, a small gasp here, an audible smile there.

He closes his eyes and waits and when she moves beside him a few minutes later, her shoulder warm against his, she gently reaches over his arm and presses play and he opens his eyes, both of them ready.

  
  


.

  
  


“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised, mouth in a worried line. Considering it’s the morning of the wedding he’s cutting this concern a little late. “You’ve seen the films, Jon, this never works out.” 

“I think it always work out in the films, Sam,” Jon counters.

“Yeah,” he concedes, “after a lot of miscommunication and everyone’s in tears.” 

“Don’t ruin it,” Jon says, punching Sam in the arm gently. “It’s going to be fine. No one’s getting their feelings hurt.” He turns back to the mirror, runs a hand through his hair one more time before giving up and tying it back into a bun. Catelyn probably won’t approve but here’s hoping she’ll focus more on the fact he’s her daughter’s supposed new boyfriend rather than the style of his hair. “What?” he asks, catching Sam’s frown in the mirror. 

“You’re a man in love, Jon,” and neither of them are sure if that’s a good thing or not. 

“Thanks for always cheering me up, Sam,” Jon drawls. “You’ve been a real help. Now get out and go find Gilly. I have to get to the church.” 

“I’ll see you there,” Sam replies, stepping in quick to squeeze Jon’s arm, his show of comfort. “Good luck.” 

Gods. Everyone is making this out to be so much bigger than it ever had to be. 

  
  


.

  
  


Or maybe. Maybe they're not. 

In those films there's always the big moment and it’s always so predictable you can guess it from the very start.

But this one’s not going to go like the rest. 

  
  


.

  
  


Jon knocks three times and then another twice, impatient. 

The door is pulled open by Arya who makes a face at Jon, a bendy, ridiculous, eyes bulging type of face. 

“Does Robb know you've abandoned his side?” she asks, shifting her weight from foot to foot so Jon can't see Sansa and Jeyne behind her. “Oh, that reminds me. Jon, we’re filling Robb and Jeyne’s honeymoon suite with balloons. I know they're only going to be in for one night and I know balloons aren't funny or threatening -- Gendry took away all my water balloons -- but we’re -- Jon, you're not listening to me.”

“I am,” Jon insists. “Come get me after the ceremony and I’ll come with you. I bet Rickon has water balloons.”

Arya grins. “Fine. Okay. Come in. Sansa, your fake boyfriend is here.”

“There's nothing fake about it,” Sansa says, catching Jon’s eye, and then swooning as she takes him in. “Jon, you look positively ravishing but didn't you know it's bad luck for the best man to see the bridesmaid?”

“Wrong tradition,” he replies, crossing the room to her. He leans in, face tilted away from Jeyne and Arya. “Can I talk to you for a minute?"

She opens her mouth to say something silly again, sure they're still playing along for Arya and Jeyne’s sake, but then she meets his eyes and nods. “We’re going in here a minute,” she says without taking her eyes off Jon and gesturing to the cupboard by their side. “I know I know, very fifth year empties vibe, but don't listen at the door.” 

“I was usually the one in the cupboard,” Jeyne says, nudging at Arya. “Where were you? Pressing your ear against the door?” 

Sansa cuts across Arya’s retort with a hand wave that both silences Arya and tells Jon to get into the cupboard. 

“This looked bigger on the outside,” Jon murmurs as he struggles not to stand on Sansa’s feet. There’s not much difference between their heights but the small number of inches is amplified in the way Jon is craning his neck so his forehead doesn’t brush Sansa’s and the way he curves his body slightly away, despite their recent closeness and despite everything he’s feeling, never wanting to crowd her. 

“So,” he says, plans to begin slow and build up to it, but then he explodes in one garbled breath, “this is real for me.” 

Sansa doesn’t say anything for a moment. Her eyes blink at him and her hands dance around the flower on her wrist, the flower to match Jeyne’s crown of flowers, and she looks and looks and looks until Jon wonders if he should step back out into the main room. But then she smiles, one of those slow smiles that grow and grow as the happiness builds and builds until you’re overwhelmed with joy and your cheeks hurt from beaming. 

“Good,” she says, quietly, almost a whisper, and he can hear her perfectly well but still he leans in closer.

From here he can smell the mints she’s been sucking on all morning and when he involuntarily sniffs she huffs out a laugh that blows the smell into his face. “Good?” He checks, just to be sure.

“Don’t call this a scheme, okay, Jon?” she says quickly, a tiny line appearing in between her eyebrows. “But I had an ulterior motive when I called you the other day.”

“And it wasn’t to get your mum off your back?”

“Not really.” With this Sansa lifts a hand to rest on Jon’s neck. “It was always about you.” 

“I’ve really liked getting to know you better, Sansa,” Jon breathes, his own hand at Sansa’s waist. He remembers Sansa saying that a little bit of touching was all they had to do to convince people they were together and he didn’t understand at the time how that would make much difference but he can feel Sansa under his hand, her skin warm even through her dress, and it feels so startlingly intimate. 

“This was all about you, Jon,” Sansa says again. “I’ve liked you for ages and this seemed --” she breaks off, bites her lip, gives in. “-- I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” 

“And here I was doing the same,” Jon says, ducking his head lower, allowing his forehead to rest against Sansa’s. 

“How polite and stupid we were.” 

To this, Jon tilts his head and catches Sansa’s lips in a kiss, hoping that conveys how stupid he finds his past self and how, for months now, it’s always been about Sansa. Sansa makes the tiniest noise, one almost of disbelief and of never wanting to break away, one that betrays how Jon feels. He deepens the kiss, steps in even closer, all of a sudden glad of the smallness of the cupboard and its unforgiving space. 

“Oh,” Sansa mumbles, pulling away to rest her face in the crook of Jon’s neck. “Arya’s known this whole time.” 

And playing over the past few months in his head Jon sees that she’s right. “What’s the bet Bran knows too?” 

“Do you think there’s a pool? Will someone gain winnings from our happiness?” Sansa asks, hand over her heart and eyes so wide they couldn’t be taken seriously. “What a thought.” 

Jon grins, leans in for another kiss. This giddiness inside of him is something new and tangible, like he could reach right inside him and pluck out the bubble that is floating up through his chest and through his throat. But he’ll keep it where it is; he quite likes the feel of it. 

Sansa leans against him, her dress rustling slightly under his hands, and Jon knows there are going to be flyaway hairs coming out of his bun when Sansa disentangles her hands but right now he’s kissing Sansa and she’s kissing him back and none of this is fake it’s all real real real --

“Sansa.” Jeyne’s voice is bordering on sharp as she raps on the door. “I’m so happy for you right now, I really am, but I need to get down the aisle and Arya and I can’t handle this train by ourselves --” 

Sansa laughs right into Jon’s mouth, her body vibrating with giggles. Jon opens his eyes and watches as she struggles to compose herself, hands fluttering over the hem of her dress, up to her hair, the flower on her wrist.

“Coming, Jeyne, soz about this!” 

There’s a muffled reply.

“Jon,” Sansa hisses. “Do we look like we were almost shagging in a cupboard?"

“And here I thought we were being so chaste.”

Sansa tries to point a finger at him, she tries to be somewhat threatening, but then she dissolves into giggles again and the finger instead strokes his nose, dances along his cheekbones where she cups his cheek and looks him in the eye. “We’ll continue this later?”

He can’t resist -- he’s had a taste now, he knows what he’s been missing, and so he ducks in for one last kiss. “Later,” he promises, and then he remembers the promise from what seems like a long time ago. “How are we presenting ourselves?”

“How do you mean?” Sansa’s opening the door now, light flooding in. Jeyne reaches out and grabs for her wrist, Arya taking the other one, and they’re disappearing so quickly. 

“Are we pretending or not?” 

“I’m sure our plan was very close to the real thing anyway,” Sansa calls back to him as she enters bridesmaid mode, flicking away Arya’s questions and both their little smirks as she checks over Jeyne’s hair and fixes the neckline of her dress. “I’ll see you at the alter!” 

  
  


.

  
  


The wedding, as predicted, goes absolutely fine. Robb and Jeyne say their vows through wide smiles, they take their rings from Jon and Sansa, and they kiss to the tune of their mothers’ crying. 

Jon feels like he has a sign on him, a flashing neon one that’s screaming to the room that he feels the happiest he’s ever felt and it’s all down to the woman opposite him who keeps catching his eye and winking, her fingers twisting twisting round that flower like she knows it keeps dragging Jon’s thoughts back to what happened half an hour earlier. 

Robb had asked him if he was okay when he had burst in two minutes before the ceremony started, his face flushed and his chest heaving. Jon had babbled something about traditions and secrets and then manhandled Robb into place, hands swiping over the specks of dirt on his shoulders, similar to how Sansa got Jeyne ready. 

So they say their I dos and they kiss and then they leave down the aisle, all waves and beatific smiles, somehow looking much more royal than they actually are. Robb’s always been destined for bigger things. 

“You have a job to do,” Sansa says as they make their way out of the church and to the hotel to change for the reception. 

Jon’s conflicted here because yes, they’re meant to be fake dating anyway, but also, this is feels private and sacred still, and to kiss Sansa here wouldn’t sit right with him just yet. So he just frowns at her and hopes she will elaborate.

“The balloons,” she tells him, shoving him lightly on the shoulder when he groans. “ _ Go _ . Arya’ll be waiting.” 

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, squeezing her hand. 

As he weaves his way through the crowd he hears one of the Jeyne’s aunties coo about young love and what a nice boy Jon is, you’ve got yourself a good one there, Sansa."

She tells them she knows, she’s very lucky, and when Arya asks why he’s smiling so much all he can do is shake his head. 

  
  


.

  
  


“Do you know how many people have come up to me and said  _ finally _ ?” Sansa asks as they take their turn to dance slowly around the dance floor. 

“Two people?” Jon asks, wondering what the actual answer is and wondering how stupid he could have been that it’s clear to everyone they know. 

“Seven,” she says, and she looks kind of pleased about that but she’s also avoiding Jon’s eyes like maybe she’s thinking what he has been -- how obvious have to been to everyone else as they’ve been oblivious to each other? “And the night’s barely begun.” 

“We must be good actors,” Jon mumbles, wondering what they look like to everyone else -- this long-awaited couple whispering to each other and laughing. He thinks they probably look like he feels: like they’re somewhere on top of the world.

“Yeah. That must be it.” 

They continue their slow circuit of the dance floor, Sansa humming the song under her breath, her hand on Jon’s shoulder occasionally drifting up to the exposed skin at Jon’s neck to caress it almost absentmindedly before moving back down. Jon can’t help but wonder if these tiny little moments only the two of them can see were part of her plan too. 

“Did you finish the book I let you borrow?” she asks as the song comes to an end. 

Jon makes to step away as he answers but Sansa’s hand tightens in his and so he stays where he is. “I did.”

“And?” She tilts her head impatiently.

“It was good."

“Good isn’t enough for Birdsong, Jon,” she argues. 

Jon laughs, gives in. “Okay, it was amazing, like you said it would be.”

“I thought you would like the war bits. I was surprised at how much I liked them too. I was in it for the romance but that part let me down.” 

“The romance was a bit shite, yeah,” Jon agrees. “Did you see they made a film?” 

Sansa screws up her nose. “I love Clémence Poésy but I’m not sure about Eddie Redmayne.”

“I thought he’d be just your type.”

“Ironically, I’m not a fan of gingers.” She tilts her head again, considering this time, her eyes narrowed as she thinks over what to say next. And then she grins. “I like them darker than that. I like your hair like that, Jon,” she adds. “I told you you should wear it like that more often but you never listen.” 

“All I had to do was do my hair like you want and you jumped me.”

“I didn't jump you,” Sansa says, head held high. “This was all my idea, you know? My mum never said anything about my singleness.”

Jon feels confident enough to say, “She probably thought we already were.” 

“That too,” she allows. “Look at us - Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock.”

“The king and queen of convincing fake romance,” Jon agrees. “You could've just asked me out,” he throws out, fully aware that he could have done the same. 

“I didn't want to ruin anything,” she says. “This seemed like the best way to test it out.” 

“It paid off,” Jon says, sure his expression is betraying whatever blasé thing he might be going for. 

“Time for the big kiss,” Sansa murmurs after she's spun under Jon’s arm. 

“Showing me off?” 

“Something like that,” and then she kisses him, gentle, lingering longer and longer than Jon would've thought she would. “This is real,” she whispers when she breaks away, her cheek resting against his. The dance floor is busier now, everyone dancing ways at different speeds, and they have to move in close to avoid being hit by any flying limbs. Arya shimmies past with Rickon, Shireen, and Gendry at her heels. She throws Sansa and Jon a huge wink, her hands waving above her head as Rickon makes a grab for a wrist to pull her along faster. 

Sansa spins away from her family, head tipped back with laughter. Her hands catch Jon’s and she pulls him against her again, her skin warm when she bounces off him. Her eyes are sparkling. With the flower on her wrist now in her hair and the beam she's directing his way it's almost blinding to look at her. 

But he perseveres, sure his eyes are watering because everything is so bright, and amongst it all he thanks every rom-com he’s ever seen for teaching him how to avoid the sad messy bit that always happens in the middle.

 

.

  
  


A week after the wedding Jon’s on the Stark’s doorstep, waiting for Sansa to come out. Basically what’s been happening since the wedding and the fake dating and the subsequent realisations is that everything has been continuing on exactly the same except they’ve spent large amounts of time kissing and holding hands as well as reiterating how oblivious the other has been at how much they've been wanting this for months. At the heart of it, though, nothing much has changed, and isn't that telling. 

What's happening now is that Jon is taking Sansa to the cinema because she's gone on and on about this film for weeks and here's a little change: they're going for dinner now, a planned dinner, at a mid-level restaurant. Because it seems like a nice surprise and also because, they're dating now, and this is what they do. 

Jon lifts his hand to knock again when the door opens and Catelyn says hello. 

“It was a lovely wedding,” he says, because even after all these years he still feels a tiny bit intimidated around Catelyn, no matter how nice she can be. This breaks out a smile and she invites him in but Sansa’s just coming, it's fine. “How's the honeymoon?” 

“They're having a great time,” Catelyn replies, slipping her hand into her jeans pocket and pulling out her phone. “I never thought Robb loved the sun but he says he's having the time of his life.” She shows Jon a selfie of Robb and Jeyne stretched out on the beach, the tip of Robb’s nose red and his smile stretching from ear to ear. Jeyne is smiling so widely her eyes have disappeared, nose crinkled. Jon had been surprised too when Robb had said they were off to Greece, the Starks have always revelled in the long Scottish winters, but Jeyne’s family is Greek and god, they really look in their element there. 

Jon makes a noise of agreement, nodding again when Catelyn flicks to another picture, this time taken by a stranger, Jeyne balanced on Robb’s shoulders, ice cream dripping down their wrists.

“I’m glad Sansa told me about you two,” Catelyn says quietly while both of their eyes are on the photo. “I’ve suspected for a long time, of course, but thank you for confirming it.” 

“I like Sansa a lot, Mrs Stark,” Jon says, hands itching to fidget but knowing that would give a bad impression of nerves. Never mind that Catelyn has known him since he was five and rolling in mud. 

“I know, Jon, and I know the feeling’s mutual. She hasn’t been this happy since --” she breaks off, both of them remembering three summers ago and the horrors that lasted for so much longer. “-- well, for a while.”

“Are you talking about me?” Sansa asks, swinging around the banister, her pleat flipping around to curl at her neck. She waggles her fingers at Jon, smiles. 

“I was showing Jon Robb’s pictures actually,” Catelyn retorts, adjusting the hem of Sansa’s denim jacket, deftly bypassing protesting fingers. “Have fun.” 

“My mum’s happy,” Sansa says when the door shuts behind them and she’s kissed Jon hello. “She likes you. She thinks you’re good for me.” 

“Wait till she hears how good you are for me,” Jon replies. He reaches out and tangles their fingers together. For two people who kept missing each other’s signals they’ve always been perfectly in tune with their body language, always knowing what the other needs. It had been no wonder everyone knew they were in love at the wedding -- don’t all the magazine say that mirroring each other is where all the truth lies. 

“My plan was perfect,” Sansa declares, swinging their hands. “And now I get to kiss you whenever I want.” 

Jon doesn’t say anything to this, just drapes his arm around Sansa’s shoulders, pulls her so she bumps against him, and holds on tight. See? They never had to practice this for other people’s faith, they were always ready, all they had to do was ask. 


End file.
